I Can Hear a Serial Killer's Voice in My Head

I step out of the car, my heart pounding. Choi stands there, a enigmatic smile playing on his lips.

"Senior Superintendent Choi," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "What are you doing here?"

Choi's smile widens slightly. "Ah, Detective. What a pleasant surprise. I was just on my way to try your grandmother's famous restaurant. I've heard so much about it."

I can't hide my skepticism. "Really? You came all this way for dinner?"

Choi nods, his expression innocent. "Indeed. Sometimes a man just needs a good meal. Don't let me keep you, though. I'm sure you have important matters to attend to."

My eyes narrow. This can't be a coincidence. Not after what I've just uncovered. "Actually, I was headed there myself. Why don't we go together?"

A flicker of... something passes across Choi's face. Annoyance? Amusement? It's gone before I can be sure. "If you insist," he says smoothly.

We walk towards the restaurant in tense silence. I can feel the weight of the documents in my car, their revelations burning in my mind.

As we approach, I can see my grandmother through the window, wiping down tables. She looks up as we enter, surprise evident on her face.

"Minjun? I was just about to close up, but—" She stops as she notices Choi. "Oh, we have a guest?"

I nod, forcing a smile. "Halmeoni, this is Senior Superintendent Choi. He wanted to try your cooking."

My grandmother's eyes light up, ever the gracious host. "Of course, of course! Come in, sit down. What can I get for you?"

Choi smiles charmingly. "Whatever the house speciality is, madam. And perhaps some soju to go with it?"

We settle into a table, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. My grandmother bustles about, preparing our food, oblivious to the undercurrents between us.

Choi smiles charmingly. "Whatever the house speciality is, madam. And perhaps some soju to go with it?"

We settle into a table, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. My grandmother bustles about, preparing our food, oblivious to the undercurrents between us.

"So, Detective," Choi says, pouring us each a shot of soju. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?"

I meet his gaze steadily. "I think we both know this isn't a coincidence, sir."

Choi raises an eyebrow. "Oh? And what makes you say that?"

Before I can respond, my grandmother appears with steaming plates of food. "Here you are! Enjoy, and let me know if you need anything else."

As she retreats, Choi raises his glass. "A toast, perhaps? To unexpected encounters."

I reluctantly clink my glass against his, my mind racing. What's his game? Why is he really here?

"You know," Choi says casually, taking a bite of food, "your grandmother's cooking lives up to its reputation. Delicious."

I nod, barely tasting my own food. "Thank you. Now, about why you're really here—"

Choi holds up a hand, cutting me off. "All in good time, Detective. Let's enjoy this excellent meal first, shall we? After all, it's not often we get to share a quiet dinner like this."

I watch as Choi savors each bite of the meal, his expressions of delight seeming genuinely appreciative. My grandmother hovers nearby, her face beaming with pride at Choi's evident enjoyment of her cooking.

"This is truly exceptional," Choi says, smiling warmly at my grandmother. "I can see why your restaurant is so beloved."

My grandmother's eyes crinkle with joy. "Oh, thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying it. Would you like some more?"

As Choi nods enthusiastically, I feel a knot forming in my stomach. The scene before me is so normal, so pleasant on the surface. But beneath it lies a chasm of secrets and betrayal.

I can't help but wonder: what if my grandmother knew the truth? What if she knew that this man, smiling and complimenting her food, was responsible for her son's death? For the loss that has haunted our family for years?

"Halmeoni," I say, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears. "Why don't you sit down and join us?"

She waves off my suggestion. "Oh no, I couldn't possibly. I have to clean up the kitchen."

As she bustles away, I turn back to Choi. He's watching me, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Your grandmother is a remarkable woman," he says softly. "She's been through so much, and yet she still finds joy in caring for others."

The words, seemingly kind on the surface, feel like a dagger to my heart. Does he feel any remorse at all? Any guilt for the pain he's caused?

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "Yes, she is remarkable," I reply, my voice low. "She's had to be, after everything that's happened."

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Choi's eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see something flicker in their depths. Regret? Defiance? I can't be sure.

Choi leans back in his chair, swirling the soju in his glass. His eyes, sharp and calculating, never leave my face.

"Well done, Detective," he says, his voice low and smooth. "Changing Lee's mind... that was quite an accomplishment."

I remain silent, studying Choi's face. Is he being sincere? No, it can't be.

Choi wanted Lee to take the fall, to confess to crimes he didn't commit. It was the perfect cover-up for Choi's own misdeeds. But now, with Lee retracting his confessions, that carefully constructed plan is crumbling.

This can't be good for Choi. So why is he congratulating me?

I take a sip of soju, buying time to gather my thoughts. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir," I finally respond, keeping my voice neutral.

Choi's lips curl into a small smile. "Come now, Detective. We both know you had a hand in Lee's... change of heart. I'm simply acknowledging your skill."

I lean forward slightly, my eyes locked on Choi's. "And why would you be pleased about that? Correct me if I'm wrong, but Lee's retraction doesn't exactly work in your favor, does it?"

A flicker of something - amusement? Respect? - passes through Choi's eyes. "You're more perceptive than I gave you credit for," he says softly.

The tension between us is palpable. I can hear my grandmother humming in the kitchen, the normalcy of the sound a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere at our table.

"So why don't you tell me, sir," I press, my voice barely above a whisper, "what's really going on here? Why are you really here?"

Choi takes a long sip of his soju, his eyes never leaving mine. When he sets the glass down, his expression has changed. The mask of congenial superior has slipped, revealing something harder, more dangerous beneath.

"You've been digging, Detective," he says, his voice low and intense. "And you've uncovered things that were meant to stay buried. Things about your father, about me, about the very system we serve."

My heart races, but I keep my expression neutral. "And what if I have?" I challenge.

Choi leans in, his voice dropping even lower. "Then you need to understand the gravity of the situation you've put yourself in. The truth you're seeking. "

I furrow my brow, feigning confusion. "I'm not sure I understand what you're implying, Senior Superintendent," I say, keeping my voice level.

Before Choi can respond, a sharp gasp cuts through the air. I turn to see my grandmother, who had been sitting quietly in the corner watching TV, her hand clasped over her mouth, eyes wide with shock.

"Halmeoni?" I call out, concern flooding my voice. "Are you okay?"

I quickly excuse myself from the table and rush to her side. Her eyes remain fixed on the television screen, her body rigid with tension.

"Halmeoni, what's wrong?" I ask, kneeling beside her.

But she doesn't respond. Her gaze is locked on the TV, and slowly, I turn to see what has caused such a reaction.

The screen is filled with a breaking news banner, the news anchor's voice cutting through the stunned silence of the restaurant:

"We interrupt this broadcast with breaking news. Lee Chunsik, the suspect in multiple high-profile murder cases who recently retracted his confessions, has been killed in the detention center. Initial reports suggest he was attacked by a fellow prisoner. More details to follow as this story develops."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Lee, dead? Just hours after retracting his confession? The timing can't be a coincidence.

Slowly, I turn back towards the table where Choi sits. Our eyes meet across the room, and time seems to stand still. Choi's face is a study in composure, a mask of calm that betrays no emotion at the shocking news we've just heard. His eyes, cold and calculating, bore into mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.

As I watch, he deliberately raises his glass of soju. The gesture is slow, deliberate, almost mocking in its casualness. A small, enigmatic smile plays at the corners of his lips, a stark contrast to the gravity of the moment.

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